


Crossroads

by inquestionabletaste



Series: Dragonborn: Ari [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Injury, Masturbation, Non-Canonical, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquestionabletaste/pseuds/inquestionabletaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ari hires some help, and he more than satisfies the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A successful career in thieving was built upon more than just money. It was about investment, and the best investment, Ari found, was in people. A favor here, a consolation there: the nodding of one’s head, sympathetic humming, or amused laughter in all the right places at all the right times...these were the tools of her trade. But the toolbox was missing something this time around: a companion.

In the process of ingratiating herself to a wealthy potential client in Solitude, she had been volunteered to fetch yet more wealth for the family. She’d already scouted the area — once a mighty ship, now wrecked and overrun with bandits. Too many men for her to take out alone, shadows or not, and bandits were far harder to get in good with than the gentry, and too much of a commitment, besides. Short-term commitments were just fine by her, though, and she was willing to sign off on a sellsword, for a day or two.

Sorex, without much prying at all, ticked off on his fingers a list of the travellers recently advertising their skills. One of them, he warned, would have to be tracked down at a less reputable establishment: a hole-in-the-wall at the lower end of the city called The Salty Strumpet. Hjalmar was his name, or at least, the name he gave. It sounded Nordly, and Nordly probably meant big, which was always an advantage in this line of work.

The Strumpet was about as clean as it was welcoming, but that was more comfortable than the warm lantern light and the cushioned chairs at the Skeever. She was accustomed to the Ragged Flagon, and to its crusty patronage. She made eyes at the barkeep and he pointed her to a man at the far end of the bar.

She swung onto the stool beside his, eyed his half-finished ale, and then eyed him. Not bad. Big and nordly, just as his name would suggest.

“Hello.” In as attractive a tone as she needed, she grabbed his attention. “I hear you’re for hire.”

Most of the time, this sort of greeting was met with a bit of a frown, with confusion. At the very least, with caution. But Hjalmar, unbothered, turned his gaze on her and lingered unabashedly. He wasn’t hungry, like the packs of men she frequently averted in her travels, just appreciative, it would seem.

“I assume you refer to my skills in battle,” he said.

“And any other skills you might possess,” she added evasively.

“What is your need?” He took another swig of his drink.

“I’m on a bit of an excursion,” she explained. “Nothing especially lengthy — a few days out on the coast, maybe. If that. I’m…” and now, she needed to be careful. “I’m on an errand. And I’ve run into some complications that must be overcome.”

“Complications, or people?”

“It’s all the same thing, but brigands, if you’d like to know. Anyway, I need some muscle, of which you’re very obviously in possession. So how about I give you money, and you give me the pleasure of your company and the swing of your arm, hm?”

He didn’t take much time to consider. “I can give you both, to whatever capacity you like. But first things first: what are you paying?”

Ari wasn’t used to getting caught on the business end of things, and she didn’t much like it. “I’ll pay you two hundred septims — gold — upfront, and then once we’ve cleared out the wreckage, you can collect the bounty.”

“This seems like a very generous deal. As long as you’re going to hold your end of the bargain.”

“I am nothing if not a woman of my word.” It wasn’t untrue.

“I have one condition, though.” He drained the bottle. “I’m not working until I’ve slept this off."

“Well in that case, another round. And a bit for me, as long as I have the night.”

“You can have more than that,” he said. “I’ve already rented a room, and sharing a bed is efficient, not to mention a lot of fun.”

The offer wasn’t seedy, only incredibly forward, given the circumstances. “We’ll see. Not tonight.”

“Not tonight, then” he agreed.

 

*      *      *

 

Thanks to the booze, Ari slept in the next morning. She woke around noon and rolled around the thin mattress for half an hour after that. When she came downstairs, Hjalmar was already there, his things propped against the bar. Ari was genuinely impressed by his massive hammer, but she hoped he would make up for its lag with precision.

“I don’t know how you woke before me.” She slumped onto a stool and ordered a measly bowl of porridge.

“I’m well-practiced,” he offered.

She snorted. “Should I be concerned? It takes sobriety to swing a warhammer — or so I hear.”

“You know what would go great with that hangover of yours?” he asked slyly. “A big, heaping plate of greasy bacon.”

Ari paused, fighting the urge to vomit. “How about I pour what’s left of my breakfast over your head?”

“Alright,” he chuckled, “but I’ll have to charge you extra.”

They got on the road after Ari finished breakfast.

“So what’s your story, anyway?” Hjalmar asked as they were crossing the bridge out of Solitude. “Not that I need the colorful bits, but I’m wondering why a beautiful young woman was in the Strumpet looking for hired muscle.”

“Oh, you’re the sort who likes to talk on the job? Wonderful; saves me the trouble of annoying you and myself to find out. I’m out here on an errand, and it’s proving longer and harder than I’d anticipated.”

“Depending on your situation, longer and harder is the opposite of a problem,” he grinned.

“What is it about cock jokes that men are so fond of?” she mused. “Anyway, I do have other things to do, places to be, people to please. But this errand is important; it could save me a lot of time and effort, in the long run.”

“That’s all well and good, but where are we going? And what should I expect?”

“There’s some wreckage off the coast, around the other side of the mountains. It’s become infested with bandits — more than I can handle. And I need something that’s in their camp. But for that matter, what brings a handsome man like you into a seedy bar like that?”

“Hooch and coin and women.”

“Fair enough.”

They followed the road along the coast and around the end of the mountains. It was suggested that they could cut through any one of the shallow passes, but Ari seemed to prefer the roads. Save their energy for the bandits, she gave as an explanation. Hjalmar shrugged agreeably and decided it just meant more of his time spent in the company of a pretty girl.

They made camp just before sundown, and Ari built a fire — more to scare off any animals than for warmth or food. Just the same, she boiled some broth and soaked some hard bread in it. “How exactly does an errand take you to a shipwreck?” he asked. It was more matter-of-fact than accusatory.

“Long, involved story that I’m sure you won’t care about. The short of it is that the wreck contains treasure. Among it is something precious to somebody, and I’ve been tasked with acquiring it.”

He laughed. “So you hired me to help you do the job you were hired for.”

“I wasn’t hired,” she argued. “I’m not expecting payment.”

Puzzled, he frowned. “What are you expecting? Or are you doing this out of the ah, goodness of your heart?”

“Goodness?” she smirked. “Heart? Anyway, I’m after something more valuable than gold.”

“Oh?”

“Gratitude,” she insisted. “I paid you, Hjalmar. I’ve given you gold, and you’ll spend it. I’m going to take the gratitude of this family and hold onto it, capitalize on it. If I play my cards well, it will capitalize on itself.”

“The gold will get me through another day,” he pointed out.

The night progressed. The stars moved in the sky. Ships passed by on the water. The fire died down and Ari tried to sleep, but was plagued by nerves. She preferred to work alone, and was unaccustomed to having another person to look out for. He would certainly be a good line of defense, and a great distraction. But all the same, she didn’t want any blood on her hands. She tossed and turned until she settled, unsatisfied, on her side.

Hjalmar was asleep, undisturbed. He snored sometimes, softly. Ari envied him.

 

*      *      *

 

Sleep did eventually take her, but it was fitful and strange. Her dreams were all mixed up, without borders, one blurring into another. People in places they did not belong, speaking words that never belonged to them. Her body was restless, her limbs itched for movement; it was the tension in her naval that clued her in, though.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.” She glanced over at Hjalmar, who appeared to be soundly asleep. It was a rude thing to even consider, but then, Hjalmar didn’t exactly demand politeness. Still, what if she was caught? That line of thought took a turn it shouldn’t have, and she quickly regretted it. He was tall and broad and she liked his crooked smile — almost as much as she liked his crooked humor. He had offered, and she hadn’t forgotten…. “Fuck it,” she whispered, undoing her leggings. If he caught her, he caught her. She imagined any number of ways that might go, but they all ended the same. She was practically suffocating on her own pleasure when it all came grinding to a halt.

“Shall I leave you to it, then?” Hjalmar’s voice rumbled through the dark and down her spine. “Or would you like a hand?”

She sighed. Her cheeks were burning and despite how much worse his reaction could have been, part of her still wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Finally, she said, “I’m going to need more than your hand.”

He got a laugh out of that. He stood and crossed the small clearing to kneel in front of her. The fire had long since died; all she could see was his hulking silhouette, illuminated by Masser.

“I don’t normally make it my business, but in this case, I’d like to know your name.” She could hear him smirking around his words.

She hadn’t necessarily been withholding that information, but she’d grown accustomed to not giving it upfront. “I’m Ari,” she smiled.

“Ari,” he repeated. It sounded nice in his mouth. “How do you like being kissed, Ari?”

“Very much,” she told him. “And thoroughly.”

“Done and done.” He maneuvered around her so that he was straddling her hips, and bent down to meet her. His body felt immense over hers, and his physical presence compensated tenfold for his general bluntness. He was all lips and tongue, though not in the way of the unpracticed stable boy — more likely that he was as enthusiastic as he was experienced. As much as her embarrassment had cooled her off, his kissing was warming her back up.

He felt her through her clothes, unwieldy without being blundering. His big hands occupied so much of her at a time, and there was quite a bit of her to have. He nudged back the hem of her shirt and she jerked when the pads of his fingers made contact with her skin. She grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand between her legs where she was warm and wet and wanting. He took direction incredibly well; without any misgiving, he pushed two of his fingers inside her and made an appreciative groan.

Helplessly, she arched off of her bedroll, fingers clenched into fists. His lips lingered over hers, his warm breath bursting over her while he enjoyed her for a moment. She couldn’t indulge him though, she needed to move. Ari tried to push back on his fingers, desperately thrusting her hips despite the weight of him. She whined and gasped beneath him, but she wouldn’t plead. She wasn’t the type.

His mouth had returned to hers, but his kisses had become lax while he fucked her with his fingers. He wandered, and she relished the feel of his lips and teeth on her skin, the gentle scratch of his beard. She cried out when his teeth found her neck, and he responded with delight, of a sort.

“Oh, found something, have I?”

A frustrated growl was all he got in response.

He continued to worry at her neck with his teeth, making a path of violently purple splotches from her jaw down into her cleavage. He maintained eye contact with her while he pumped his fingers inside her, watching her with satisfaction. Her hands got tangled in his braided hair and she pushed his face into her bosom while she writhed under him.

It was almost enough. Ari could feel his erection pressed against her, and his fingers were large and he was clearly well-practiced. The heel of his palm was rubbing exquisitely against her, and his attention was eagerly administered. But she didn’t want only to feel him, she wanted to hear him, wanted to enjoy him as much as he was enjoying her.

“Fuck me,” she ordered.

“I am,” he rejoined.

“With your cock,” she growled.

“Well, if you insist.” He sat up and pulled out slowly, careful not to hurt her.

She resented the feeling of him leaving her, and felt hopelessly empty without him.

Amused, he wiped his fingers on his pants before pulling hers off completely. She spread her legs wide and he groaned, admiring her wet cunt.

Biting her lip almost to pain, Ari watched Hjalmar undo his trousers, the careless way he tugged at the laces. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw his cock, when she imagined how it was going to feel. She reached between her legs and spread her lips with her fingers, inviting him.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” It was probably meant to sound cheeky, but his desire had punched most of the insolence out of it.

She ached for him, and brought her legs around his waist when he got close, pushing him against her. She keened while he guided his cock inside her. He moved slowly at first, as if getting his bearings. He leveraged himself onto his elbows and she enjoyed the strength of his arms under her palms. Not so much as she enjoyed the feeling of his his thrusting in and out of her, though. She was slick and slippery and he moved easily in her, despite her tightness. She grinded against him, fucking herself on him, savoring his noises. Still, as good as he felt — and as great as he sounded — Ari was still stalling out at ‘almost.’ It was unbearable, her body taunting itself, so very close but just not quite.

She put a hand on his chest and pushed. “Stop. Hold on.”

He didn’t fuss or ask questions, just grunted while pulling out and then waited patiently for her go-ahead.

She rolled onto her belly and spread her legs. “Okay, now.”

The noise he made while entering her told her all she needed to know about how he was faring.

“Oh...oh that’s. That’s perfect.” She pushed back on him, chasing her orgasm. But the combined force of their movements proved too much — almost painful. “Stop moving,” she told him. “Let me fuck myself on you.”

“Yes ma’am,” he exhaled.

Exerting control was exciting in and of itself, particularly when the man she was exerting it over was so very big and capable. Of course the illusion would fall apart if he tried even a little bit to overcome her, but he would never — at least, not without permission. So she was allowed to enjoy him as she pleased, and it pleased him along the way. Her thrusts became increasingly unstable and her breath was coming shorter and shorter until she fell back on him and stilled, arched into herself, whining into her bedroll. His name fell off her lips over and over, an exclamation, a praise. She squeezed around him, teeth clenched and eyes scrunched shut.

When she was finished, she collapsed.

Most men asked, but Hjalmar just pulled out and started stroking himself. She could hear him behind her, the slickness of his hand over himself and the low moan that escaped him.

She smiled contentedly and proffered her bare ass. “You can come on me.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out all punctured and rough. “If you insist.”

Ari relaxed and basked in the sleepy warmth that enveloped her. She looked over her shoulder at Hjalmar, who was lazily jerking his cock, looking her up and down. Spreading her legs a little wider, she relished his ensuing groan. He wasn’t especially noisy or quiet when he came; only a few soft, punchy grunts gave him away, followed by a contented sigh.

Ari enjoyed his come for as long as it could be enjoyed, but that didn’t last before she needed to clean up. “Why don’t you bring your bedroll over here and we’ll uh, huddle up for warmth or something.”

“It’s the middle of summer,” he pointed out playfully.

She was pulling her leggings back on. “I did say ‘or something.’”

He chuckled and fulfilled her request. She was small against him, and snuggled happily into the strength of his arms.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'injury' tag has nothing to do with sex; Hjalmar just gets a little sliced up and I wanted to give fair warning.

“How do you want to do this, then?” Hjalmar sat upon a large boulder, polishing his hammer. The wreckage was visible through the foliage, but they remained out of sight in the shadows. The weather was on their side: it was a clear day, with no clouds to be seen. The blue sky was almost seamless where it met the ocean.

“You’re going to go out there, hammer blazing, and attack from the front. Mostly I want them to be surprised that you’ve come crashing into their camp. They’ll probably take you for a treasure hunter and gang up on you. At which point, I will do my part.”

“All from the safety of the shadows,” he smiled.

“To each their own.”

They parted ways, and Ari found a sheltered bluff from which to observe. Her heart climbed into her throat while she watched Hjalmar march onto the strand. He squared his shoulders, but otherwise, he abandoned the usual scare tactics. He did not swing his hammer about. He approached the wreck casually, and then hollered out a cheerful, “Hello!” The bandits congregated, confused and wary. “Beautiful weather we’re having!”

She readied her bow, and kept an eye out.

The first bandit came running down the beach with an axe. Hjalmar knocked him back before caving in his skull with a sickening crunch. On the wreck, others scrambled to retrieve ranged weapons, while a small contingent followed their slain comrade, only to meet the same fate.

As soon as archers appeared, Ari took action. Her first arrow hit its mark spotlessly. Her second wavered, but she managed to decommission another. The archers pushed about, scuttling for cover while trying to figure out where the arrows were coming from. Meanwhile, on the beach, Hjalmar contended with the last remaining bandits. One of them nicked his armor and, distracted, he opened himself to a slice along the shoulder. Ari saw him try to fight for a split second before falling. She incapacitated the one who’d hit his mark, and killed the other with a swift shot to the head. She stowed her bow and charged the beach, a dagger in either hand. By the time she reached them, Hjalmar had knocked the wounded brigand with a jab of his hammer to the shin, and Ari finished the job.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she hissed before advancing on the wreck.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he grunted, holding his shoulder.

All appeared quiet within the wreck, but Ari crept along the shadows; she wasn’t used to rotten, waterlogged wood, and occasionally the planks would groan or threaten to give way. She didn’t want to leave Hjalmar vulnerable for too long, but she needed to get what she came for. The bandits, it seemed, had truly been scared off, though. None were left that she could find, and if there were, well, they weren’t taking their chances. She ventured deeper into the wreck, where it was dank and musty. She searched up and down, combing the entire broken hull for the chest. She’d been given a very specific description; she’d know it when she saw it. But she wasn’t seeing anything — not even a musty crate or ruined barrel. The stranger things got, however, the more they made sense.

There was no ornate chest. There was no heirloom or family fortune. There was only the sad realization that this ship was ruined — and lives likely taken — for the sake of an elaborate ruse. Frustrated and angry, Ari screamed and kicked the nearest rock, bruising her foot. She couldn’t leave Hjalmar for much longer, so she turned and retreated to the beach.

“You still with me?” Ari knelt beside him. He was on his back, eyes closed, loosely bracing his shoulder. Blood leaked from behind his hand, spilling onto the sand.

“Not for much longer.”

“Well, keep it together.” It was pretty bad: the cut was deep and bleeding freely. Undoing his armor, she asked, “Have you ever been healed before?”

“Have you healed anyone before?” he grumbled.

Ari found a scarf from her satchel and wound it like a rope. She gagged him. “Bite down.” She pulled a knife from her boot. Ignoring his grunts of protest, she cut the straps off his armor. He protested louder yet. “I’ll repair it.” His shirts were next; she flayed them at the seams, pulling them apart.

It was grizzly. His veins were turning black beneath his skin, and already the wound was beginning to rot. It stank like poison.

Ari summoned a flame in one hand, and allowed it to lick the blade in her other. “Try not to move.” She began reciting a story to him. It was the story of how the Empress Katariah contended with her Council, quarrelling about who would make the Legion’s armor for this war or that. She told him the story, memorized from years of her father’s readings, and as she told it, she kept an eye on the knife until it burned white. She pressed it into his wound, and he screamed around his gag. Ari continued to tell him the story. She pressed the skin around his gash, pushing up blood and pus and burned flesh. She spoke softly of how Hazadir, Katariah’s candidate, came to visit the Imperial armorer’s forge. She spoke of the armorer’s pity for the Argonian as she repeated the procedure, enduring his misery with him.

When there was no more pus and only blood, she put down her knife. She continued the story, even as she struggled to focus her magic. She stuttered while recounting the fight between Nandor Beraid and Raphalas Eul, each outfitted in Hazadir’s and the Imperial armorer’s work respectively. She struggled to keep her eyes open while she mended him back together, but the narrative marched on.

When it was over, he had a neat, white scar.

“Can you sit up?” she asked.

Hjalmar moved. He felt stiff and in pain, like he’d slept on his arm, which was a far cry from almost having it sliced off. Once he was upright, he undid the scarf. Just for fun, he asked, “And what became of Saccus, the armorer?”

“He went to Morrowind, to learn, and was never seen again.” Ari collapsed in the sand from exhaustion. “But you knew that already, I imagine.”

“I did.” He flexed his arm and hissed. “That trick with the knife was fun,” he grunted.

Ari sighed. “I had to cleanse the wound somehow.”

“Just look at all that water,” he gestured at the ocean nearby.

“That brackish filth? You’d have died tomorrow.”

“You could’ve boiled it.”

“Yes, me with my fist in the water, boiling the sea with a single spell.” She frowned. “The man who relies on magic is already dead. Any healer worth her salt would agree with me.”

Hjalmar snorted. “I’m not ungrateful. But I’m going to remember that experience for the rest of my life, and not fondly.”

“I’ve given you fond memories already, haven’t I?”

“I could do with a few more, after that,” he smiled.

The day was stretching thin, color staining the sky. Ari stood and surveyed the barren wreck. “You must be feeling better already,” she said wryly. “Better enough to head out?”

“Not so much better.”

“Well, better enough to help me drag these bodies down the beach — I’m not sleeping with corpses.”

“That would be immoral, and just plain disgusting." Standing, he rolled his shoulders and winced.

Between the two of them, it still took almost an hour to haul the bodies down the shoreline, where Ari made sure they were carried out by the waves. She flopped back onto the sand and squinted in the fading light. “How’s the pain?” she asked him.

Hjalmar shrugged, then flinched. “I’ve had worse.”

Ari nodded. “I want to be drunk,” she announced. “You know, I didn’t see a single bottle of booze in that ship. That’s odd.”

“Is it.”

“I don’t know; I guess I’ve always fashioned bandits as perpetually intoxicated, and after the day we’ve had, it would have been nice to have something to wash it away.”

Hjalmar stood next to her, crossed his arms. He nodded out at the flush horizon. “It ain’t booze,” he said, gazing over the ocean, “but we can wash in it.”

Ari eyed him up and down. “We certainly can.”

They played in the water, splashing at one another, dunking one another, but mostly just swimming around each other. The water felt good, and even better, Ari had brought a tin of soap. She washed her hair, and thought to offer to wash his, but refrained.

After they got out and dried off, Hjalmar went into the woods and retrieved their gear. Back on the beach, Ari wrapped herself in the blanket she’d packed, still naked. She watched quietly while he pulled on a clean pair of pants, while he braided his hair again. Once he was finished, he settled in beside her. They took advantage of the existing camp and used the shelters built into the sand. It didn’t take long for Hjalmar to start a fire.

“Hungry?” Ari asked, rummaging through her pack. She produced a bag of dried figs, and a parcel that when unwrapped revealed some salted fish.

Hjalmar took her up on the offer, and put the fish on the fire. The figs were sweet, even dried out. “Where did these come from?” he asked.

“I live in a city; they’re not so hard to find.”

“Expensive though.”

She shrugged. “I’ve spent more money on lesser things.”

“Fair enough.”

They ate in amicable silence once the fish was cooked. It could have done with some herbs or lemon, but it was a good meal just the same. When they were finished, Ari buried the bones in a deep hole, so as not to attract any wildlife. She used salt water to wash her mouth; Hjalmar followed her lead.

Darkness overwhelmed them, the light of day swallowed up by the void. The night sky was clear, though, and Ari gazed at the gentle pinpricks of light, twinkling unreachably from Aetherius. She was about to make a comment to Hjalmar, but when she turned to look at him, he was nodding off.

Well that simply wouldn’t do.

She shucked the blanket, and her skin rose with bumps, even in the mild summer air. She straddled him and kissed his forehead, his cheeks. She stroked his hair.

“Hm?”

“Hjalmar,” she cooed. “Wake up.”

“Why?” he yawned.

“There’s a beautiful, naked woman in your lap; what kind of question is that?”

Still half-asleep, he grabbed at her, feeling her soft skin under his callused hands. He fondled one of her nipples and she bit her lip, rolling her hips. “Guess you’ve got a point.”

She leaned down and kissed him, hands gripping his strong shoulders. He kissed her rough, and she responded well, squirming under his touch, sighing into his mouth. She felt herself getting wet, and undid his pants. She pulled them over his hips, down around his thighs, just enough to expose him. She stroked him and kissed along his jaw, his beard scratching her. She whispered into his ear, “I want your cock in my mouth.”

He groaned. “Help yourself.”

She got onto her hands and knees, off to the side of him, and took him in her hand. She licked him, over and over, tugging on him in between. She played with him first; foreskin was still novel to her. She wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, tasting him, enjoying him. He could stand to drink a little less, it seemed, but so could she, so she didn’t hold it against him. Besides, she was having too much fun. She used shallow thrusts of her wrist to pleasure him while she licked and sucked the end of his cock, teasing him.

“Fucking after a fight?” He grunted, through clenched teeth. “A woman after my own heart.”

“No,” she kissed his abdomen while she stroked him, giving her jaw a break. “Just after your cock.”

He laughed breathlessly.

Hjalmar stroked her hair a bit, pushing her down onto him before moving his hand over her back, her ass, down between her legs. He moaned, feeling how aroused she was, rubbing her with his hand. Her hips jerked back in surprise and pleasure. She froze up when he slipped a finger inside her.

She hissed through her teeth, thighs shaking, trying not to push back just yet. “ _Fuck_.”

His cock felt good and his fingers felt better; she sucked him while he fucked her and she almost came once or twice, but held off because she wasn’t ready. She wanted to get him off; she wanted the satisfaction of knowing she could. She dropped her head and took a little more of him, bobbing more vigorously, getting sloppy with her form. She felt his hips stutter, and pulled off of him. She continued stroking him, though, eagerly, watching his face.

“Come on, Hjalmar, give me what I want.”

He increased the speed of his thrusts, and she moaned, losing her rhythm for a moment, but she kept her hand on him.

“Quit working so damn hard,” he admonished through a lopsided smile.

That derailed her a bit, and he took over, touching himself in ways she didn’t know how. She watched him, though, biting her lip. She moaned with him when he came, watching the whole time. He fell back in the sand and she used a rag to clean him up, complaining about her own arousal the entire way.

“Sit on my face,” he growled back.

She thought he was joking.

“My cock certainly isn’t gonna’ come up again for a bit; sit on my face.”

Ari hesitated. She wasn’t used to this. She’d have been happy to get herself off, too, at least as compared to not getting off at all.  And she’d had plenty of lovers go down on her but...not quite like that. “Are you sure?” she asked. She was suddenly acutely aware of the wetness on her thighs.

He grinned wolfishly. “Absolutely.”

Ari shook, but she hoped Hjalmar didn’t notice, or that if he did that he mistook it for anticipation. She felt him watching her as she climbed onto his chest, and avoided maintaining eye contact. When she wavered for too long, he hauled her up onto him, impatient. She squeaked and fell forward, catching herself on her hands, just in time to almost collapse when his tongue flattened against her.

She had nothing to hold onto, so she balled her fists in the sand and tried not to grind on his mouth too much; he grabbed her thighs and pulled her down. She tried not to think about how she was probably getting his face wet.

“Uh — _mm_ .” She stuttered, breath catching in her throat. “A-are you sure...is this—?” She could _feel_ herself getting wetter. “Oh, _God_ , are you okay?”

He pushed her up for just a moment, licked his lips and answered, “Peachy.”

Ari struggled with herself, squirming over him, unable to contain herself; she moaned, loudly, and it echoed across the beach, getting swallowed up by the night. She curled her fingers in Hjalmar’s hair and held on for dear life, pulling shamelessly. “More,” she begged through clenched teeth, but more of what, she didn’t know.

Hjalmar seemed to have an answer, though. He put more pressure on her clit and held her still, burying his face between her thighs. He pushed her apart and licked with long, wide strokes, applying pressure the whole way up. He kissed her clit, sucked on it, flattened his tongue against it. He teased, but not much. When he pushed his tongue inside of her, she would have felt embarrassed if she hadn’t been so overwhelmed with pleasure. She moaned his name, dragging it out into an almost unintelligible string of vowels. She came so hard it almost hurt, and she wondered if she felt him grinning under her.

She flopped onto the sand beside him, catching her breath. Then, she whined. “I’m all dirty again,” she pouted.

Hjalmar laughed. “Should we make another go of it, or clean up?”

“Do you have another go in you?” she asked.

He jabbed her teasingly with his elbow, but wrapped her up in his arms. He was big and warm, and she felt safe. “Let’s just sleep.”

“What am I going to do about this job?” she asked, closing her eyes.

“Figure it out in the morning.”

They fell asleep cradled by the beach and lulled by the surf.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wife for allowing me to borrow her character, Hjalmar, and for encouraging me to write this.


End file.
